#Coffee's fics

[4acoffee]

You kiss Dan Heng so hard he thinks he's about to die, again.

It started out innocent, you swear you really didn't mean to go this far. Your relationship with Dan Heng has never been anything outside of a comfortable friendship, and you were fine with that.

It's only by chance that you find how easy it is to rile the poor boy up. The terribly endearing flush that never fails to spread over his handsome face when you tease him has you in a chokehold, and finding new ways to observe it up close has become something of your new favorite past time.

It's how you find yourself in his room, under the pretense of looking for a new book. Of course he doesn't buy a second of it, but he entertains you nonetheless. It's just by chance that you catch sight of the little sprig of mistletoe taped haphazardly to the top of one of his shelves.

It's by chance that the object of your recent affections was currently standing just under it — rambling away about some information he knew on whatever it was that you had pretended to be interested in.

You hesitate for hardly a moment before slyly moving your body so that Dan Heng is in-between you and the shelves. It doesn't take long for him to notice your sudden shift in moods and pause his speech.

He looks down at you through narrowed eyes. Granted, given his unfair height and build, it would not be difficult to get you to move —but something in the way you were looking at him gave him pause.

You’re much closer to him now, your nose in line with his chest and one hand resting beside him on the shelf, your own heart beating a little faster from nerves and the absurdity of what you were doing.

You can't help the wide grin that grown on your lips when he looks at you suspiciously, it only grows wider when you notice the tips of his ears already beginning to redden from the proximity.

You make a gesture with your eyes above his head.

"Look, Dan Heng."

He spares you another anxious look and tilts his head up, exposing the lovely expanse of his neck peeking out through the loose nightshirt he sported.

You swallowed deeply.

You watch as his eyes narrow further in confusion and then widen in startled understanding.

His eyes whip down to meet yours and sputters out your name in warning.

You smile wider, "Sorry, Dan Heng — you know the rules."

He mutters something disapproving and puts a hand on your arm to push you away — you grab his wrist instead and pull it closer, bringing Dan Heng down to you as well.

He makes a choked out noise as you both almost come nose to nose.

And there's that delightful scarlet blooming all over his cheeks. The one that makes you all giddy and content. You could stop now, you should stop now. Put an end to his misery and leave satisfied with your daily quota of a blushing Dan Heng.

But, you can't find it in yourself to pull away or let go.

He's stopped making an effort to get away from you as well, you realize.

And that's what stops you. Because here he is, - cold, stoic, serious, Dan Heng, — inches away from you, with flushed cheeks and wide eyes.

You almost startle, because it's not by chance when his eyes drop down to your lips, and you automatically do the same. Your breath hitches when he seems to unknowingly dip his head closer to you. You still in place and he notices, pausing as well and you see the shift when he's about to pull away, but you give up trying to be merciful, and surge up on your tip-toes, lips touching his clumsily to stop him.

He goes still as a statue against your lips, and you quickly get tired of stretching up to meet him, fisting his shirt in your free hand and pulling down so you can lean back on your heels.

He stumbles but comes down with you, carefully placing a hand on the back of your head.

You sigh and move your lips gently against his, it's messy, but you enjoy it so much more than you could have ever imagined.

His motions are slow and careful, and it makes your fingertips tighten over the books giving your support when he gingerly curls his long fingers into the strands of your hair.

Steadily, he grows more confident with his movements, his lips move against yours more smoothly, letting out a soft groan when you absentmindedly run your tongue over the seam of his lips.

He pulls you closer by the waist with a new fervor, flush against his body, you gasp in a breath when his tongue rolls over and around yours in your mouth, not seeming to mind that he's practically hunched over in half on top of you.

You nearly tremble with how messy and quick everything was moving, his hand moving up and down your back and both your hands now thrown over his shoulders, grasping at his soft hair.

Your breath catches in your throat when his teeth graze your lips, all too sharp and stinging more than should be normal — you pull back to see the prominent fangs glinting in the florescent lights of the archives — something that was very much not there when you first began making out with your quiet friend in the archives.

A shiver wracks through your body and your fingers pull at his hair just a little harder than before, he tips his head back again with a groan and you’re rewarded with the porcelain skin of his smooth neck once more.

You can't help but plant a kiss to the dip of his collarbones. His shoulders jolt in surprise and you take the encouragement to run your lips further up his neck, sucking and biting, reveling in the jolt that follows and fingers tightening over you every times.

You wait for the warning not to mark up his pretty skin where someone else could see, but it never comes and you take this as permission to take your sweet time leaving signs of your endeavors all over the broad expanse of his skin.

You almost whine when he tugs at your hair to pull you away from him, capturing the noise with his lips again as you fall back into a steady rhythm with each other.

Your more than happy to oblige, this new, feral side of your friend not something you were used to or expected, but were shamelessly basking in either way. Still, after some time, you can't ignore the ache in your legs from being pressed up to Dan Heng in one place for so long. So you pull back as much as you can in-between kisses and try to reason with him.

"Dan Heng—hah—m-my legs—ah—are gettn'—mpfh—tired."

He grumbles and straight up ignores you, continuing to ravage your lips. If anything he only grips you tighter.

Your whine and pull tighter at his hair to get him to listen.

"Dan Heng! Can we at least s - sit down, please?"

You stare up at him pleadingly and he let's out a noise of impatience. Huffing, he untangles his fingers from your hair and curls it around your thigh.

Startled, you can do nothing when he presses his lips to yours again and mutters out a, "jump" — pulling your leg up around his waist and hoisting your other up as well when you oblige.

His grip on you is dangerously nearing the point of no return and it only serves to make your heart beat faster and slant your lips deeper to his.

You were all too lost in the feeling that when the door to the archives suddenly opens, you do nothing but look up in a daze.

"Dan Heng!! have you seen —"

March, who had just barged into the room goes stock still in shock at the sight of you and Dan Heng wrapped up in each other.

Her face flushes at the scene and angrily mutters a series of complaints, slapping a hand over her eyes and desperately turning - practically running out of the archives — slamming the door behind her.

The hinges rattle from the force, the impact is enough to knock the already precariously placed mistletoe off the tape and it tumbles onto Dan Heng's head, — like a little tiara.

Flushed doesn't begin to describe the state he is in at this point. Dan Heng looks close to combusting into a nuclear explosions on the spot. You notice that in addition to the sharp teeth digging into his lips, his eyes have also begun to glow it that way you usually only see when he's in his vidyadhara form. His hair even has has tinges of green running through it on the inside. You wonder if he knows how he was changing — and it fills you with an absurd amount of smugness to know that you were able to elicit such a reaction from him.

He's still gripping you tightly, and he groans, shoving his burning face into crook of your neck in embarrassment.

...what now?

masterlist

[caffinatedstory]

Two Oceans

I won't say what date this ask if from... But finally got around to this one at least...

(AO3)

------------

"What's love?" Iceland enquires with a curious gaze up at his brother.

The question seems to take Norway by surprise.

The previous 30-50 questions Iceland had asked today had been more about why grass was green and the sky blue. Norway wasn't prepared for this sort of stuff.

He'd gotten away with blaming the gods for a lot of stuff too, but he didn't think that would work now.

"I'm..." he started then trailed off. Their walk through the fields came to a halt as well as Norway just could not think of an easy way to explain. "That's a very big question," he finally managed to say as he sat down in the grass.

Iceland happily sat next to him, tiny hand still clinging to Norway's tunic.

"I heard one of the men tell a poem to a lady, and she said she loved it," Iceland smiled.

"Yeah... Love comes in many shapes and forms," Norway nodded. He felt about 3000 years too young to explain this to a child, even if said child was as immortal as him.

"Is love nice?"

"It should be,"

"Is it warm?"

"Usually..."

"So love is like a warm stew?"

Norway laughed and ruffled Iceland's pale hair affectionately.

"Yeah, love is absolutely like a warm stew. Made by someone who really cares about you and want you to grow big and strong," he smiled warmly.

"But sometimes love is hot and scary and almost painful. Like a volcano bubbling up from the ground,"

Iceland nodded wordlessly. He seemed to be grasping the concept.

"Love is wanting to hug someone super close. But also maybe wanting to be left alone a little bit,"

"Like you do with Denmark?"

"Exactly."

"Is love sweet?"

"Sweet as mead and honey,"

"Love sounds nice," Iceland smiled.

"Yeah it is..." Norway nodded. "But it's complicated. You'll probably feel many different version of love as you grow older. We both will..."

"Sounds exciting!" Iceland hummed with a sence of glee that Norway could only describe as childlike.

"Love is absolutely exciting. And a little scary. Imagine wanting to do anything for the person you love! Some people even lose their minds to love,"

"Oh..."

"Love is a strong bond that can be impossible to break, like the fetters of Fenris. However, if done wrong then love can also dissappear as quickly as snow on water," Norway pointed toward the the ocean.

"Love can be as big as the ocean and as small as a raindrop. You can't really run out of love, but you can divide it in unequal parts..."

"So I can love someone a little and someone else a lot?"

"Yeah," Norway nodded, satisfied to some extent with his own wisdom he had now imparted on his brother.

"Well, then I think I love you as much as the ocean allows," Iceland smiled brightly.

"The whole ocean?" Norway grinned. "That's a lot of love..."

"Yes. But you said I couldn't run out of love,"

"And neither can I," Norway's grin turned into a warm smile as he pulled Iceland into a warm hug. "But I think I'm going to need two oceans to show you how much I love you."

Iceland giggled and hugged Norway tightly in return.

—---------------------

"What's this?" Norway points to a giant white plastic bag on Iceland's floor that contained what seems to be a whole lot of fabric, smiling ever so slightly as he does so.

"Nothing," Iceland replies a little too hastily, and shoves the bag behind his sofa. 

"Ah, so you're hiding nothing?" Norway chuckles and takes a step closer to the sofa. "Mind if I look at this 'nothing' then?" 

Iceland's cheeks redden and he appears to be contemplating what to do before he sighs in defeat and retrieves the bag, throwing it a little too violently at Norway.

"Whoa!" Norway laughs as he catches the bag, nearly toppling over at the sheer weigh . "Good thing I wasn't holding coffee! This thing could take even Denmark out. "

"Would have served you right," Iceland grumbles and averts his gaze to the floor.

"Your words wound me so," Norway replies flatly, as he peers into the bag.

His face contorting into a confused expression.

"What is this?" He asks as he slowly starts to pull out a quilted blanket.

"A quilt," Iceland replies coldly. "You've got eyes,"

"Yeah, I can see that but-" Norway's words trail off as he spots some familiar embroidery on one of the patches.

"Is this all your old clothes? The ones I made you?"

"Yeah," Iceland's gaze is still locked to the floor. "Felt wrong to just throw them away," he shrugs. "I've out grown them... But they're still, you know... Memories..."

Norway doesn't say anything else as he starts to unfold the quilt.

A beautiful and intricate image of the ocean lays in front of him, made up of lots of tiny bits of old clothes Iceland has worn though the ages.

Norway runs his hands over the waves in the image.

"Wow," he finally utters.

"Remember when I asked what love is?" Iceland asks softly, cheeks still red.

"Yeah, I do..." Norway smiles softly in return.

"Well... You're still my brother, and the ocean hasn't gotten smaller..." Iceland shifts his weigh from one leg to the other in a slow but nervous manner.

"Think it's gotten even bigger actually," Norway adds, hand still tracing the quilt pattern.

"It's really well made. Made with lots of love..."

"A whole ocean worth," Iceland mumbles.

"I think it might even be two,"

"Yeah," Iceland nods ever so slightly. "Definitely two whole oceans."

[dcxdpdabbles]

Danny, working as a cashier: Can I help you?

Tim half-deranged: Please I just want a cup of coffee

Danny squinted, then pulled out a binder: I'm sorry, sir, but you are on the Don't Serve Coffee list. I can offer you some tea instead-

Tim: NO. THIS IS THE FIFTH PLACE. BRUCE CAN'T OWN YOU ALL!

Danny leaning in to whisper: Look, man, I can't give you coffee under the cameras. Meet me in the back alley in twenty minutes and I'll get you a coffee. Bring Cash.

Tim: how much? Five hundred, six hundred or hell even a thousand? I'll bring whatever you want.

Danny: Chill dude, it's a cup of coffee. Three dollars is fine.

Tim: It's not just any coffee! It's my favorite brand and Bruce bought them out just to make sure they wouldn't sell to me anymore!

Danny: okay okay, this coffee means a lot to you. I get it. Twenty minutes alright?

Jason three weeks later in Bat cave: Tim's on drugs! I've caught him trading cash for small containers in a shady alley six times. We need an intervention.

Dick: What?! I thought that was his boyfriend!

Bruce: I also thought that was Tim boyfriend but if it's a drug dealer we have to help him.

Tim hiding in the shadows: shit.

Tim texting Danny: If anyone asks your my secret boyfriend who been making me teas in allies

Danny: who the hell would believe that? But I've had a boring week, so yeah, I'm down to be a pretend boyfriend.

[caffeinatedvigilantewriter]

So this was inspired by the coffee shop au that really popular amount Danny x Tim Fics

So Jazz is off to collage, but the moment she passes the amity border, she trips the silent alarm and the GIW fakes a car accident. She’s never seen again.

Danny knows better.

Tucker temporarily disables the alarm so Danny can leave Amity Park, live his life and get help.

Danny is quick to find out that he can’t find Amity anymore. It’s in an entire blackout. He went to the location where it was last only to find entire entire town gone with no trace of even existing

Danny moves to Gotham and get the night and afternoon shift for a cafe and meets Tim Drake. They end up dating when they both turn 18 and the next few months are peaceful.

One night, Danny is on shift, it’s two am and he’s joined by Tim (and other bats if you want)

The door jingles open, and everyone is wondering who’s entering at 2 am.

Meanwhile, Danny is frozen.

It’s Ellie.

She comes up to the counter and orders like nothing it wrong and like she are Danny are complete strangers instead of siblings who haven’t seen each other since their older sibling went missing.

Tim is very confused. His boyfriend definitely knows the 16 year old that just walked in, but isn’t saying anything about her (Tim doesn’t know about the ghosts and stuff)

Danny give Ellie her order and she tell him that Jazz is alive and the GIW has her.

Danny and Ellie vanish from Gotham the next morning after Danny’s shift.

Any media is welcome as long as you tag and comment. I might even write the scene I described if you guys want :)))

[ping-ski]

shrödinger's plex fic (they are real to me)

EBY eclipse and y/n ref here!! :3

[gutsby]

Ruined!

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel is an old man who struggles to cum sometimes. You’ve got time to kill and a tight hole to fill.

Warnings: 18+. Peepaw brainrot + a dash of anorgasmia. Unprotected p-in-v, cockwarming, age gap, daddy kink.

Note: Finals are whooping my ass left & right. This is a quickie.

Word count: 1.2k | Part of the Waiting Game ‘verse

Surely he was hurting you now.

Joel Miller had a kink for many, many fun activities, but splitting a sweet young thing like you over his cock to the point you were almost in tears was just not one of them.

At the same time your poor, surely-bruised walls pulsed around his hardened length, he felt a pang of guilt. His balls were pressed against your ass like two lead weights, soaked with the remains of your third release, and his mind was at war with itself—keep fucking you like this? Pull out and offer his sincerest apologies for not being able to cum? A boy your age would’ve never had you waiting around like that, aching around his cock, much less begging for something as simple as a cumshot.

He decided to go straight to the source. Leaning over your prone body on the bed before him, he was careful not to rut his hips or jostle his dick around too much.

Joel pressed a hot, stubbled kiss to your cheek, then:

“‘S’it too much, baby? She need a break, maybe?”

Joel thumbed at that space where your body ended and his began and nearly lost his mind to the pearly-white slick that had accumulated with time. Two hours time, he had to remind himself while you moaned and writhed and bucked your ass back. Your cunt was choking him.

Crying, too.

Your eyes flew open the moment his words reached you.

“You kiddin’ me, Miller?! I could do this shit all day.”

Sometimes Joel forgot you were only in your twenties. Really, the thought only occasionally crossed his mind in moments like these—or when your father, his best friend, happened to bring you up—but when it did, it hit him hard. You were young. Lively. Surely far too spry and full of life to be messing around with a man as old as him.

Joel’s guilt ran almost commensurate with his pleasure when he felt you anchor your feet on the bed and start to fuck yourself back and forth over his still-throbbing dick.

Almost.

He planted a hand beside your head and grinned. He let you fuck him. Felt you pull off, crawl up the bed a little, then beckon him back to your body, where your ass was now pointing up and your back was arched in invitation.

Almost.

“You know I can’t sleep without your cum inside me.”

And you made a point to spread your knees and look behind you with a smile as sweet as Milo’s tea, fingers drumming a beat against the bedspread in anticipation.

“You do wanna fill me up, don’t you, daddy?” you teased.

Yeah, no. The guilt was gone. Joel could worry about being a depraved old man when he was done cumming.

Then he was back inside you, driving his hips until every last inch of him was wrapped snug within your wet and velvety embrace, and he sighed. A real protracted one, like the kind he was liable to exhale after climbing two flights of stairs, or else just hoisting himself off the sofa. Or lifting you in his arms and fucking you hard against the hood of his Bronco. Any time. Any place. You were kind enough to oblige him with the best cardio of his life, so the least Joel could do now was make you cum again.

He snatched your hands up in one of his own and placed your wrists at the base of your spine. With his other, free set of fingers he took to rubbing your clit gently.

“SON OF A—”

“—good girl.”

You let out a bloodcurdling scream into your pillow and secretly hoped this man’s dick would never deflate again. Not with the way he was sawing his thing back and forth and dragging you to the edge, circling your clit like you were the single most precious thing in the world to him.

“Oh, sweet pea, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Like he could feel the tears staining the cushion himself.

“Mmrooonme,” you cried into it, voice garbled by cotton.

“What’s’at, honey? Can’t hear ya.”

Joel then bent at the waist, pretending to be leaning in to hear you better, when really he knew he’d be digging in your guts with that big, bulbous head of his and making you squeal again. Hands still held captive behind you, you inched your chin back on the pillow so your moans could be heard even louder while Joel sped up.

“You— ruined me,” you repeated. Now clear as ever.

Joel tried to hide his smile and glanced down between your body and his. Then, while his ring finger joined the other two to make their tight, light circles, he returned,

“Ruined? Pussy feels just fine t’me.”

You’d kill him if he wasn’t so good at this. You turned your head more to meet his eyes from the corner of yours.

“No. Ruined me. For anyone else.”

Probably forever.

“Good.”

You knew he liked it that way.

You saw it in his eyes. Felt it in his touch. The hefty, broad, and greying Joel Miller had been loafing around on this earth long enough to know how to claim what was his. When his hips knocked yours to lay you flat on the bed, you already knew what was coming next.

First, his arms came to rest on either side of your body.

“Shit,” you whimpered.

Next, his lips went trailing down to your ear.

“Just a little more, sugar—that’s it,” he murmured while his hips sank in, and you felt that big, delicious stretch.

Then he released your hands so they were free to squeeze the sheets, and when they did, his moved over them—lacing his fingers through your own—and his lips pressed a kiss to your jaw. He held you in a tender grasp. His breath was hot on your neck, and the whole of his body was blanketing yours. Joel knew you liked it like that, which is why he made sure not to leave an inch of space in between. He was grunting, rutting, holding you close while his cock drilled a maddening pace inside you.

“You ruined me too, y’know,” he mumbled into your skin.

His nose was flush with the side of your cheek, nudging inward. Begging you to turn your head just a little more so he could kiss you. Weak as you were, you obliged.

And you moaned against that grey, stubbled chin of his when the thrusts above you had your cunt grinding the bed, rubbing that soft and helpless nub on the sheets.

“C’mon— let daddy have it,” he growled, “Let daddy have it and make it his, huh? That okay by you, baby?”

It was.

More than okay, as confirmed by the orgasm that tore through your body moments later while your teeth sank into the flesh of Joel’s lower lip and your cunt clenched and soaked over him whole. Joel wedged his tongue in your mouth and fucked you through it. His broad and callused hands were like iron around your own, holding you tight and keeping you still amidst a maelstrom of pleasure that combed over your every last nerve.

He licked into your mouth. Licked over it. Took the sick and distinct pleasure of knowing no one but him got to see you like this, with your jaw hanging slack and your eyes rolling back and your whines repeating quietly, ‘Daddydaddypleasedaddyfuckohfuckdontstop.’

Maybe ruined wasn’t such a bad thing to be at all.

[angelofsmalldeath-codeine]

No crumbs left.

[yandere-romanticaa]

⚘ 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞.

m. - "forevermore" typically refers to something that lasts for an indefinite amount of time or for eternity. it implies a sense of permanence or lastingness.

You've ran away from your husband, the 11th Fatui Harbinger, Tartaglia himself. However, have you truly escaped his grasp?

yandere! tartaglia x fem! reader.

The shimmering rays of bright morning sunlight made the living room come to life as you sat in a classic wooden chair, a steaming cup of tea in your hand. It burned your fingers ever so slightly but you could not be bothered to remove them from the cup.

The pain made you not focus on the massive bouquet of flowers which were placed on your pretty white table.

From the corner of your vision, you could see the card which clung onto the fresh bunch of blooms, the handwriting on it disgustingly elaborate but oh so familiar.

"Blood red roses." The card said.

"I always knew that you fancied roses, and I couldn't resist to get you these specific ones when I saw you looking at them."

Bastard. How he had managed to track you all the way to Mondstatd was beyond your comprehension, but in hindsight, you really should have known better. The Fatui could sneak in anywhere they damn well pleased, be it the hustle and bustle of the city of Mondstatd, to the dirty cracks of the Chasm.

It was only natural that the many agents which were stationed in the city would start to talk upon seeing the wife of a Lord Harbinger so far from home.

You concealed yourself at first, obviously. Most unfortunately, word started to spread like wildfire that you had fled in the dead of night, never to be seen by anyone. And, due to the fact that your husband did not possess a single shred of decency in his body, he proudly showed you off wherever he could.

Just the mere thought of the memory made you shudder.

Your good husband was - is - a wealthy man. He made sure to spoil you in the finest of silks known to man and the endless sea of jewelry which was sent your way, if it were to be sold, could feed an entire army.

Although, he was always particular about your arms. He didn't like seeing anything on them except for the, surprisingly, simple wedding ring he got you.

It was a promise, he had told you.

His eternal promise to you, until the end of time. He would love you, in sickness and in health, there was no force in the universe that could separate him from you.

In a way, he was keeping his promise. He made the trip from the homeland straight to the City of Freedom all on his own.

... He probably didn't even need to hear the reports from anyone of your whereabouts. Knowing him, he tracked you down all on his own, using nothing but his wit and sharp senses.

He was a terrifying man. A man you ought to stay away from, a man who had the blood of countless innocent people on his hand. And yet, those same hands would keep you warm during the cold winter, his soft and pale lips would pepper your body with gentle kisses, making you feel as if you were the most beautiful woman in the universe.

Archons, he'd whisper to himself, his breath hot on your neck, making you blush. He would just say whatever came to mind, completely lost in his blind passion.

I want no one else but you - You are my everything - I will make you mine -

Frankly, you did not know how to feel. In those private moments he was less a man and more a lovesick little fool. He could not keep his paws off you, even if he wanted to. As the evening would go on the kisses would evolve into something more, something primal, carnal even. Tongue and teeth would mesh together, leaving a thick string of saliva between him and you, to which he would always let out that darling boyish laugh of his.

You loathed the fact that in those moments, he truly was ethereal, no different than a star.

What made your skin crawl was the effect his touch had on your mind and body. He became something akin to a drug, even now as you felt the sweetness of freedom with your own two hands you still felt the urge to hold something tight at night because your husband had spoiled you rotten with his presence.

Finally, you turned to look at the flowers as the horrible realization dawned on you - you loved him. You loved that man and it was putrid.

You cannot go back. You would not go back to him.

Jumping off a building would be a smarter thing to do.

As you pondered on and on about your predicament, you failed to notice the lingering shadow in your hallway. Deep blue eyes monitored you like a hawk as he toyed with a switchblade he had in his pocket. What should he do with you? He was furious, naturally. You were the last person in the world he wanted discord with. You broke his heart a little when you left and the fact that you didn't even care about his feelings only added insult to injury.

Even so, he could not help but to feel overjoyed by the fact that you hadn't thrown out his gift. He was half expecting you to burn whatever he sent you to the ground, not to mournfully contemplate in deep thought like this.

That was how he knew you loved him. It was crooked and wrong, but he had you. He had you and you didn't even know it. He'd bring down the heavens themselves if it meant that you could feel a fraction of the love he held for you. His lips curled into a sly grin but his heart pounded like clockwork in his chest. This waiting game was so horrible.

But the hunter in him couldn't resist, cornering you like this was just in his nature.

Victory was so close, he could practically taste it. Soon enough, his wife would be in his arms, weeping and apologizing and he would soothe her, like a good husband ought to. Yes, that was how this scenario would play out.

He was too clever to let it happen any other way.

It would be just him and you, perhaps even with a bundle of joy if the Tsaritsa blessed him. Even so, with you here, he had everything he could ever dream of.

Him and you, against the world, standing by each other's side, forevermore.

💋 TAGLIST: @genshinarchives, @saturnalya @mod-kisa-blog, @juuuuuj101010, @alatusprinz @kalopses-sonderes, @b10h4z4rd, @lakxcpsta @xiaopleasecomehome, @mayulli, @cc-6789, @mewmeowmika, @ranposgirlboss, @goldenglow149

This fic was born out of my own pure passion and love for Tartaglia, apologies for the Cringe™ I put you all through.

[chronicowboy]

Buck doesn't know how long they sit there in that café just talking. He's never had that before. The last time he'd done this, sat across from Natalia in the midday sun, he'd been excruciatingly aware of every passing minute as he tried to be fascinating to her, spun yarns of deaths and near-deaths and deathly comas. Here, now, Buck just exists and that seems to be more than enough for Tommy.

Tommy who hangs on his every word like Buck is the next Shakespeare even as he's rambling about rainbow emojis and allyship. Tommy whose smile is so big and wide that it carves the most beautiful caverns into his face that Buck kind of wants to live in. Tommy who grimaces every time he sips the coffee Buck bought him but dutifully drinks the whole thing over the course of their date even when Buck tells him he doesn't have to. Tommy who keeps muffling yawns into his fist every five minutes having just gotten off a twenty-four hour shift like he'd stay in that uncomfortable metal seat forever if he could.

It's the best second date of his life, so when Buck tells him to go home and get some sleep, he doesn't resist the urge to prolong the date for the few moments it takes him to walk Tommy to his car. With anyone else, so soon into whatever this might turn out to be, Buck would worry that it's too much too soon. But Tommy has been so loud in his affection even with how gentle he's made sure to stay. Buck wants to be as free in his wanting as Tommy as is, so he reaches out and slips his fingers between Tommy's, damn near euphoric when they begin to swing between them as they walk.

It takes a moment to drag his eyes up to Tommy's face, caught up in the feeling of a hand in his. It's not the first time he's held a hand, far from it. Not even the first time he's held a man's hand. But this isn't Eddie letting him squeeze his fingers as he screams in pain. This isn't Taylor indulging him every now and then. This is Tommy smiling softly down at their hands like he's as mesmerised by it as Buck is, the tips of his ears growing pink and sending a giddy thrill of satisfaction through him.

"Can I ask you something?" Tommy says, giving Buck's hand a happy little squeeze.

"Don't think there's a limit on second date questions," Buck replies.

"Evan." And, Jesus, there's something about the way Tommy says his name. Even when it's that chiding little tone that should remind him of his parents, all he feels is an overwhelming warmth, all he can hear is fondness.

"Of course you can." Buck grins and watches Tommy's smile crinkle his face all over again like he just can't help it.

"Why'd you choose that abomination of a coffee for me?" And Buck groans just to hear Tommy laugh. "Really? What even was that?"

"Black coffee four sugars," Buck mumbles, kicking a stone across the sidewalk sheepishly.

"Jesus, Evan." Tommy's laugh is something special, loud and unrestrained and the sound of sunshine maybe. "Why?"

"I-I don't know, I panicked!" Buck doesn't realise he's drifting away from Tommy until the man pulls him back in by their joined hands, and Buck lets the bump of their shoulders calm him. "Just thought, you know..." Buck turns towards Tommy's car, but Tommy drags him gently towards the Jeep, leaning against the door when they reach it.

"You just thought..."

"I don't know." He shrugs, heat rising to his cheeks under the weight of Tommy's bright-eyed attention, lowers his voice all the way. "It reminded me of you."

"What was that?" Tommy grins, using the excuse to move in a little closer.

"It reminded me of you," Buck repeats, clearer this time, more confident. "You know, bit foreboding on the outside, but all sweet on the inside."

"Christ, you really are adorable," Tommy breathes, sounding as effected as Buck feels.

A kaleidoscope of butterflies swarms in his stomach, delightfully unfamiliar to him but already intoxicating, almost addicting.

It's not two men stood on a busy sidewalk in the middle of the day then. It's just Buck and someone he really fucking likes, someone he hasn't been able to stop thinking about for a week, someone he's only kissed once somehow. And suddenly that's a fact that absolutely should be rectified.

Buck steps forward, leaning up just ever so slightly on his toes, and kisses Tommy right there in the middle of LA. And it just feels right. Overwhelming in the best of ways. It's a quick press of lips, something more suited to the schoolboy he feels than the very adult man he is, not the kiss he wants but the kiss they both need. Chaste and lovely. A hello again. A beginning.

Tommy's free hand ghosts against his jaw, a flutter of a touch as Buck falls back onto his heels and takes a breath. It takes Tommy a few moments to open his eyes which means Buck gets to watch them flutter open, dazed and delighted.

"Get some sleep, Tommy," Buck tells him, finally letting go of his hand with a squeeze. "Text me when you wake up."

"Yessir," Tommy murmurs.

And Buck can't resist another kiss then, just as quick and chaste, anything else dangerous to Buck's self-restraint, before he unlocks the Jeep and climbs in. Tommy waves him off, and Buck glances back just in time to see Tommy's hand falling down to his lips as if to chase Buck's touch.

[idliketobeatree]

listening to Too Sweet for the first time and, damn, Crowley never got his flat back, did he? can't believe he's been crashing on Hozier's couch all this time drinking booze and waxing lamentations about his angel. strange world we live in

[the-shotce-newsletter]

Scene from a fic I started. Selkie Soap is stuck as a seal and has a lot to say to Price, who’s hunting for answers. He can easily scoot and hop around, but why do that when he can make Ghost carry him like a sack of potatoes? Gaz is the only amused one.

[4acoffee]

Prompt: “Am I a hero or the devil’s son? Can’t figure out what side I’m on.”

pairing. todoroki x reader

word count. ~900

genre & warnings. fluff, insecure todoroki, comfort

notes. here have this edited repost of an old drabble i did a while while back... mans so difficult to write for but so gorgeous he's a trap in every sense i swear. only i would suffer stiff shoulders the rest of my life for him anyway <3

The steady hum of the air conditioner running at full speed filled the air and left your skin pleasantly chilled. Your room was dark, long curtains draped over your windows, and the soft plush of the mattress covers under you were steadily making your eyes more and more difficult to keep open.

You could have fallen asleep so easily, if it weren’t for the warm body currently pressed gently to your side.

Earlier, UA's resident pretty boy, Shoto Todoroki, had unexpectedly turned up at your room, head hanging almost sheepishly, and asking in his soft, world-peace-fostering voice if he could come in.

And although it wasn’t out of the ordinary to find him hanging around your room at the dorms, he was generally always accompanied by Midoriya, or Iida. Your cozy little room was somewhat of a designated rest area for your friend group with your extra pillows and blankets, and the fluffy pink beanbag that Uraraka often curled up on.

Which is why you peeked behind him uncertainly at the empty space in the hall, but let him in nonetheless.

When he had seated himself comfortably on your bed, you attempted to ask him if everything was ok, and the only answer you received was a simple nod.

He looked exhausted. While the young hero was not as volatile as one particular blonde classmate you have, you know he still struggles to express himself easily. You figured he would open up to you in his own time if he really wanted to. So you decided not to prod and plopped down on the bed next to him, doing your best to ignore the way your heart started to race against your will at the proximity.

As you messed around on your phone, over the course of an hour, you came to the sudden realization that the two of you had unconsciously gravitated towards each other. Soon, your legs were curled up to your chest, with one hand gripping your phone, and the other getting sore because of the deceivingly heavy head of silky half and half hair now resting, frankly, uncomfortably on your shoulder.

You would have believed he was asleep with how quiet and still he was being, but his fidgeting hands on the cotton of your oversized shirt proved that he was still awake.

Besides the coma inducing fact that his mindless fussing was making your top steadily reveal the skin of your stomach, even in your groggy state you could practically feel the current of thoughts plaguing Todoroki.

He radiated something anxious and tired at the same time, and you couldn’t help but steal glances at him to try and gauge what he was thinking.

Just when you figured that maybe you’ll never truly figure out the mystery that was Shoto Todoroki, his hands stilled, and he said something so softly you struggled to hear.

“...am I a bad person?”

Your eyebrows scrunched in confusion. Did you hear him correctly?

You tilted your head at him and hummed in question.

He sighed deeply and you watched as his lovely heterochromatic eyes turned dark and sad.

“I’m trying my best to be the hero I always wanted to be as a child, but sometimes I wonder if I actually deserve to be here. My family has been through so much trouble because of me. Mom is in the hospital because she always had to protect me from him, Touya left because I had to be better than he could be, Fuyumi and Natsuro, father always neglected them because of me. It’s my fault that we couldn’t be a normal family. My fault the we can’t be together. All the time, I see real families, happy families around me, that need protecting — and I can’t help but think, — do I really deserve to be the one protecting them? If I can’t even keep my own family safe, do I really deserve to call myself a hero? Hero’s are supposed to be good, — am I good?”

You listened in astonishment as he rattled of reasons why he was a shitty person. His speach trailed into mutters and slurred words that you could barely put together. He sounded like he was barely concious and you think that at this point, he was more talking to himself.

In his sleepy rant of self-deprivation you did catch one thing as he buried his head further into your shoulder.

“Am I a hero or the devil’s son? I can’t figure out what side I’m on.” He said, dead serious.

A sputtered laugh was the only response you could muster, why did he have to be so dramatic sometimes?

He narrowed his eyes in indignation at your laughter and looked up at you through his lashes. You grinned apolagetically. “Sorry Todoroki, I didn’t mean it like that.”

You shifted to face him better, “It’s just — none of that is your fault. You know that right? No, clearly you didn’t know that or we wouldn’t be here.” You said, and he pouted further.

“It doesn’t matter what your past was like, we’ve all done some bad things in our lives, and what happened to you was completely out of your control. Just because you made some mistakes, doesn’t make you any less of a capable hero than any of us. In fact, it makes you better, because you know what there is to lose.” You reassured him.

He looked at you carefully, “Oh, you really think so?” he asked you, so hopefully you swore you felt a part of you melt.

“Of course” you told him, he spared you a soft smile.

You smiled back and nudged him playfully, “Now if your done moping, could you get off my shoulder, — I lost feeling in it hours ago.”

Masterlist

[caffinatedstory]

A Great Fall. Again

(AO3)

------

Doing some cleanup of fics on my notes app. Better than just letting them rot there...

I don't remember why I started this fic.. Oh. Well!

------

It's about 7 in the morning when Norway's phone rings, and he answers it with a barely tangible "What do you want?"

Denmark's voice on the other end is far too chipper and happy this early, and Norway struggles to comprehend the string of words flowing from the phone. It's mostly Danish, a little English and a few choice words in old Norse.

Eventually Denmark's chatter fades and a young woman's voice takes over.

"I'm so sorry for walking you, but he insisted we let him call you so he could get picked up…" She explains, and in the background Norway can hear Denmark's continued chatter.

"Pick the idiot up from where?"

"The hospital…"

The nurse is roughly halfway through her explanation of Denmark's fall, the surgery and his superhuman healing abilities that have baffled the whole ward every since he was admitted last night.

"Which one?" Norway rubs his face with one hand as he drags himself up from bed and finds some clothes.

He listens to the nurse explain Denmark's whereabouts as he readies himself for an impromptu roadtrip to Denmark's capitol.

"Don't worry about it. He's always been weird," Norway chuckles as he gets into his car.

A few hours driving later and he's greeted by a very pleased Denmark and a baffled nurse.

"He said you were from Norway?" The nurse carefully inquires as Norway gives Denmark a half annoyed and half affectionate hair ruffling.

"I see," the nurse replies, and Norway just knows she's not quite buying his little lie.

"Yeah," Norway nods. "But I was in the area," he adds as to not make this seem too strange.

He's pretty sure the poor nurses are having more than enough to work though their minds as it is.

Still, she continues her explanation in a very professional manner for someone who's just had an immortal man as their patient.

"He fell off the roof of his house last night, and into the fence. A neighbor found him and we got him to surgery pretty quickly," she explains. "He seemed in pain but his tollerance was absolutely inhumane!"

"Ah yes, not the first time we've heard that…" Norway cracks a smile, hoping she reads it as friendly and sincere, but he catches another nurse across the room flinching ever so slightly. He can't wait to hear the rumours spreading from the hospital about this incident. Denmark might have to fend of a few rumours about being a vampire. Again.

Norway stifles a chuckle, thankful she doesn't seem to have heard him.

"Our anaesthesia team is used to red heads being pretty immune to anaesthetics, but this was truly a case for the medical books…."

"Anyways, they had to give him quite the large dose, so he's still a little-"

"Loopy? Away with the fairies?" Norway cuts her off with another warmer smile.

"I'm not allowed to use those exact words…"

"Don't worry, he's had worse" Norway reassures her. "Another day or two and he'll be good as new,"

"It was a pretty nasty fall. Our surgeons got most of his bones in place, and we're certain all piece of wood are also out, but he needs to keep his left leg and arm elevated for a few more days. Normally we'd insist he stay at least another night, but he said you could care for him?" The nurse gives him a questioning look.

"We've been thought something similar, so we'll manage," Norway offers her a polite smile.

"if you say so…" the nurse still looks a little concerned, so Norway rolls up his trouser leg to show off an old scar.

"Broke it skiing a few years ago," he explains. "Same procedure as this I assume in terms of recovery."

"Ah," the nurse nodds. "Then you're aware of the symptoms of compartment syndrome and such?"

"Yes," Norway nodds, glad she can't discern his lies.

Skiing accident. His favourite lie to explain any scar on his body to regular humans. It would blow their mind to know that that one scar on his leg is due to Denmark being a little too aggressive with his axe during a fight many many many years ago.

A few more minutes of obligatory information is given before Norway is allowed to wheel Denmark out of the hospital and to his car.

Denmark is still signing an old nose drinking song, laughing in-between verses to himself about some old joke Norway hasn't quite got the gist of.

By the time he's gotten Denmark back to his own house, he's gotten slightly more sober.

"Care to tell me what you were doing on the roof at night?" Norway asks as he crosses his arms, giving Denmark a disapproving stare as the other nation lies spawned on his sofa.

"Reminiscing," Denmark replies sheepishly.

"Really?"

"Yeah…" Denmark's goofy smile doesn't leave his face. "I found some old letters in the attic, and just wanted to get closer to the stars for a moment…"

"How very… Sentimental of you," Norway sighs.

"I debated inviting you, but it was late…" Denmark trails off, his eyes going towards the window and the sun slowly starting to set.

"You're not climbing my roof tonight," Norway says sternly.

"Wouldn't dream of it!"

"Those nurses would kill you if you did… If I didn't get to you first…"

"Noted," Denmark nods soberly, and Norway can tell there's not much left of any pain medication or anaesthetics left in Denmark's body now.

"But we can sit outside in the garden, might even let you have a beer or two," Norway suggest with a small smile. "Not that you deserve it."

"You're too kind," Denmark grins. "And I think I do deserve it. It was quite the traumatic fall!"

"Sure it was," Norway scoffs. "About as traumatic as when you fell off the ship when we landed in England?"

"Oh yeah, no…" Denmark's face goes dark for a second. "That was worse."

"Or when you fell off the cliff while chasing a bear?"

"Ouch… Yeah that one too was pretty bad… I spit out rocks for months after that fall!"

"I believe you said all food tasted like gravel for about half a year," Norway teased.

"It at least felt like it!"

"What about when you tried to jump-"

"Okay. Okay! I get it," Denmark cut him off, waving his arm with a cast on it frantically. "I'm horribly clumsy. No need to bring it all back up…"

"You're the one who wanted to reminisce about the past," Norway smiled.

"Just the good times!" Denmark sighed.

"I found lot of those to be quite good,"

"Ha ha ha…" Denmark frowned. "As if you haven't had your share of stupid injuries too!"

"Well someone's gotta be the adventurous one,"

"Oh plenty. But yours are just so much more… Spectacular!" Norway laughed as he left the living room momentarily to fetch them a drink.

"And you're usually the one jumping into stuff head first before thinking." he added as he handed Denmark a beer.

"Yes… I suppose so…" Norway sips his beer quietly for a moment. "However, there's adventurous and then there's just plain recklessness."

"Well you know…" Denmark's sheepish smile is back. "Same thing sometimes?"

"Perhaps…"

"Only if you promise not to climb anything more than the stairs tonight."

There's a quiet moment between them before Denmark grows impatient and starts trying to wriggle himself out of the casts.

"So how about you help me out of these plaster prisons and then we can drink and be merry?"

"Deal!"

As the sun sets and the starts slowly emerge, Norway is happy the reminisce with Denmark in the garden.

The good, the bad, the ugly and the downright hilarious antics of their youth.

And maybe, just maybe, he'll let none of the other nations know of this accident.

Yet.

[revasserium]

soooo thinking about pro!hero shouto being waylaid in the street by a tiny cute girl scrabbling for his autograph, and he's still a bit bewildered by this whole fame thing but he tries his best -- so he bends down to ask her what he'd like signed, only to hear your voice, to look up and see you, just about the prettiest creature he'd ever laid eyes on, running up to the little girl and scooping her up into your arms before bowing and saying --

"i'm so sorry! she just ran off -- you can't do that, mia-chan! your mama will kill me of something happens to you!" before turning back to him with a pleading sort of smile and just, "sorry again -- she's my cousin's daughter -- i promise she doesn't mean to bother -- she's just such a huge fan --"

but he can't help noticing the glow in your cheeks and can't stop himself from wondering if you're a fan too. and what he'd do if you said yes.

"not a bother," he smiles, "it's just part of the job." he looks at the girl now, extending a hand, "thanks for being my fan -- what would you like signed?"

"no really -- you don't have to --" you say, but shouto reaches for a pen all the same.

"no, it's okay. i want to."

so he signs the little girl's handkerchief, and feels his chest go warm at the way she presses it to her chest, grinning wide enough to split the sky. it's only then that she looks back at him with curious, wide eyes and asks --

"aren't you going to sign anything for big sister? she's your big fan too!"

"mia!" you go just about the most darling shade of red, looking anywhere but at shouto; he clears his throat, licking his lips.

"i... i don't mind... if you'd like something --"

"no, please -- we've bothered you enough."

"can she have your number?" mia asks, now positively devious as she looks between him and you, "it was her new years wish when we did our first temple visit --"

"mia! that's enough -- i'm sorry, we'll just go --"

"here." he scribbles down his number and presses it into your hand with a bright blush of his own. and now he's the one who can't look at you, "you don't have to do anything with it -- if you don't want to. but if you do..."

"i -- i do! i just --" you glance back down at mia, grinning smugly in your arms.

"then... you can call me later. or text. whichever." he takes a few steps back, swallowing passed the heartbeat now thundering in the back of his throat.

"yeah. sure -- i will! i mean -- only if you don't mind."

"i don't. really."

"okay."

"okay then. see you."

"yeah... see you... soon."

"yeah. soon."

[alchemistc]

Tommy doesn't quite startle, when Evan reaches out for his hand, halfway down the block on their way to the little park tucked in behind a row of boutiques, but it takes him a moment to accept the touch, Evan's pinky sliding over the back of Tommy's hand as their shoulders bump together, the both of them a little too giddy to blame the coffee alone.

Evan makes an aborted movement like he's second guessing the attempt, and Tommy twitches his hand back just enough to snag his fingers.

At his side, Evan ducks his head, cheeks pinking, lips rubbing together, smile going wide and bright.

He feels overheated in his hoodie, but now their fingers are interlocking, and Evan is shifting his weight to adjust the angle of their arms, and Tommy can just deal with the warmth, actually.

His sister's wedding. They're both insane, Tommy decides, right then and there, and if this continues - if this continues, Tommy's just going to take his cues from Evan.

(I am all in, Tommy thinks, in Scott Patterson's voice, and then drops that thought like a hot fucking potato. He tables it, at least. For later.)

"I - uh - I told Eddie, about - well I told him." Evan grimaces, but he holds up their intertwined hands for a moment, a clear gesture about what, exactly, he'd told Eddie. Tommy wonders exactly how much he'd said. He wants to climb in behind his eyeballs and pick at his brain, which is so beyond the pale of weird and intense. Evan still thinks he's cool, somehow. That won't last. "I hope that was okay? I know you said you're out, but I guess he didn't know, so -."

Tommy squeezes the hand tucked into his. "That's fine, really. He'd have figured it out on his own, eventually. It's not like I hide it."

(Anymore.)

It's - that's a huge fucking leap from "I'm an ally" actually, less than a week out from shifting his eyes around the room and spouting nervous nonsense about picking up chicks. His sister, his best friend - Christ, he's really going for the speed run on accepting his sexuality.

The wedding, Tommy had discovered, down to the dregs of a truly middling cup of coffee he kept sipping at to try to hide his own nerves, was another three weeks away, but a month of lead time between his first kiss with a man and introducing that man to all of his family and friends as a date - yeah. Tommy wouldn't trust it for a minute if he hadn't spent weeks picking Christopher's brain for hints as to exactly what was up with Evan Buckley, if he hadn't already heard from Eddie exactly how quickly they'd jumped into their friendship.

Tommy's whirlwind thoughts stutter to a halt. "Wait. Did you know?"

Evan blushes, again, ripening the apples of his cheeks. "It's - okay so I didn't know, know, obviously, but - I mean - you were flirting pretty hard."

Tommy laughs. "Evan."

"You were!" He sounds a little incensed, like he's actually offended Tommy thinks he can't clock a flirt, and Tommy can't quite resist the urge to squeeze at his hand, again. "You aren't exactly the first guy who's ever flirted with me, Mr. Kinard." He says it prim and proper, chin raised, lips pursing after the pause, and Tommy is - shit, he's smitten. He also has no fucking clue how Evan never pieced together how hard he was flirting back. God, even Mr. Kinard has his stomach fluttering, a little.

"Just the first one who's ever reached out and slapped you in the face with it."

Evan's grin goes blindingly bright, eyes still a little squinted under the sunlight making the shots of red in his hair a little more obvious. "It was a very gentle slap. You could - you could slap a little harder, next time."

Jesus.

He's not even a hundred percent sure what the implication is there, but he can at least roll with the tamer one. He tugs, a bit, on their intertwined hands, just hard enough to knock their shoulders together again. He's a solid weight against Tommy's side, the bulk of him a little mind numbingly hot, in his bright white shirt and the dark wash jeans Tommy'd taken his time checking out when Evan went to toss their coffee cups. "You still owe me a beer, Buckley," he tells him, and Evan tilts his head up to check the angle of the sun, doesn't even bother to point out that Tommy'd barely let the check sit on the table long enough for Evan to pull out his wallet.

"I mean, it's a little early."

"Raincheck, again?"

Neither one of them has anywhere to be for the rest of the day. They'd both made that clear, when the coffee started to get low but the conversation didn't wind down, and Tommy - Christ, Tommy is more than willing to let himself get swept up in this, for the next few hours, for the day maybe, even. The weather is comfortable, and the company is adorable, and in response to Tommy releasing him from the pressure of being out too soon he'd sped off to his sister and his best friend for - for answers, most likely, for advice on how to turn things around. My sister says... he'd started, before Tommy'd had enough of wondering.

"Let's see where the day takes us," Evan says, another squeeze to Tommy's hand, and Tommy takes the weight when Evan checks his shoulder back.

-----

The day takes them twelve blocks up the road, Tommy pressed to his own kitchen counter, lips swollen and flushed when he finally parts for breath, Evan Buckley's dick pressed against his thigh as he whines at the loss. Tommy's hands are bunched up under the fabric of Evan's shirt, the wide expanse of skin beneath them sun-warm and smooth, and when Evan blinks back at him and digs his nose into Tommy's cheek, Tommy has the wild thought that he could do this forever - just this, rocking together in the shifting late afternoon light coming in from the gauzy white curtains over his kitchen sink.

They'd made the journey here under the pretense of grabbing a few waters, maybe making some late lunch, figuring it out from there, but when Tommy had bent over the low shelf in his fridge Evan had cut the distance between them, caged Tommy in and made good on his threat to show Tommy he could slap back, if he wanted.

They've been lazily making out for - long enough that the water bottles he'd scrambled to set aside are now sweating condensation. He'd lost his concept of time somewhere around the point Evan had grabbed for the back of his thigh and rocked against it for the first time.

"We should figure out something for dinner," Tommy announces, lips still close enough to Evan's still parted ones that he's speaking mostly into his mouth.

"Uh-huh."

"Evan," he intones, just a hint of admonishment, and Evan blinks, and gathers himself. He's - he's still got his thigh wedged between Tommy's, can clearly feel exactly how much they'd both gotten themselves worked up. Tommy's a little obsessed with exactly how unperturbed by this Evan is. Thirty some years without realizing he was attracted to men and now he's spent a good few minutes actually nipping at the cleft of Tommy's chin, purposely shifting his face against Tommy's stubble-roughened cheeks while he sucked at Tommy's earlobe.

"Somewhere with beer," Evan provides, decisive, and Tommy can feel exactly how wide his smile goes.

"I'm actually in the mood for wine, tonight," Tommy shoots back, and the moment shifts, mood slowing as Evan pulls back - just a little, just enough for each of them to take stock of exactly how disheveled they both are.

Evan's mouth is pink pink pink, his own stubble not quite enough to hide the beard-burn that had spread down his neck when Tommy found himself momentarily fascinated by the dip of his collarbone, the rush of his pulse when Tommy mouthed at the tendon of his neck. Besides the awkward bunching at the back, his shirt is all out of whack, one side of his collar flipped up, the neck shifted to one side, and Tommy vaguely remembers sliding his hand in there, at one point, swallowing the heavy groan that had elicited. His cheeks are ruddy, eyes bright and still a little wild. Tommy can't be any better.

"There - there is actually a little wine bar around here I've been meaning to try," Evan says, clearly trying to refocus, shifting his weight around in a familiar way that Tommy finds achingly endearing.

Tommy thumbs at Evan's bottom lip just to watch the way he has to fight not to be drawn back in.

"Let me change," Tommy says, hands shifting to Evan's hips to press him back, and away.

"You - you're fine. Like this."

Tommy's smile is soft, and he reaches out to smooth down Evan's collar. Evan's eyes seem to be stuck on the flash of skin behind the open button of his Henley, the knowledge of which he is absolutely going to use to his advantage.

"This isn't exactly date attire," Tommy impresses upon him, and Evan's brow goes adorably crinkly.

"Tommy, we've been on a date the entire day."

Tommy's mouth does something uncontrollable, the smile breaking containment on one side, then the other, and the hand still tucked next to Evan's collar shifts across his chest. Beneath his ribcage, Tommy's heart does something he absolutely refuses to acknowledge until he's had a moment alone to his thoughts.

"I didn't wear this to impress you," he admits, although he gets the feeling Evan absolutely had dressed to impress. "Sorta thought I was getting a very polite let down, this morning."

"So, this is, what, your sulking attire?"

"Certain I was gonna sulk, hmm?"

"I mean, I'd have been a little insulted if you didn't at least mope, a bit. Maybe a little wallowing."

"You caught me. This is my brooding sweatshirt."

It's absolutely stupid, how much it makes his heart race to see the grin blooming across his face. Tommy needs a moment.

He brushes at Evan's shoulder as he passes him, fighting the urge to press his lips to his cheek.

"I'll be right back. Bathroom's down the hall on the left, if you need it."

In his room, with the door shut behind him, Tommy takes a long, long moment to stare at his bed, silently trying to convince himself not to throw his whole body dramatically across it like some regency era heroine. The bathroom is right next to his room, and Tommy can hear Evan drifting down the hall towards it, at a pace that suggests he's taking the time to take in the artwork and picture frames hung on the walls. It makes something ache, in his chest, in his throat, and Tommy shakes his head on the way to his closet, getting tangled in his sweatshirt when he tries to tug both it and the Henley up over his head at the same time.

He's forgotten how clothes work. Maybe. Probably.

In his walk in, once he's figured out how to get everything off without blinding himself or taking out a light, he takes a moment to stare at himself in the mirror hung by the door. His hair is a fucking disaster. His face is - embarrassingly smiley, Jesus Christ.

There's a mouth shaped bruise forming at the bolt of his jaw, and Tommy should absolutely be embarrassed about that - he's a forty year old man who just spent a good hour necking in his kitchen.

Fingers trace the edges of it and he can't muster up anything less mortifying than smugness.

He manages to get his hair in some semblance of order - doesn't bother with product, for absolutely no reason at all (certainly not to tempt Evan into running his fingers through it some more) - and finds a collared shirt in a light, hazy blue that he knows brings out the slashes of green in his eyes.

He leaves the top three buttons undone and calls it good.

Evan's back in the kitchen by the time he makes it out of his room, snooping in Tommy's fridge, and he doesn't even have the grace to look apologetic about it when Tommy taps his fingers against the doorframe.

The fridge closes on its own, Evan's mouth dropped to an intriguing O shape.

"Uh - oh," Evan says, mouth actually snapping shut as he takes Tommy in, eyes dipping up, down, catching on the skin below his collarbone. He swallows. Fuck. "This - uh. Okay. Color me impressed."

"Yeah?"

"You know you look good," Evan whines.

He's done something to fix his own, hair, too. Tommy leans in the doorway, arms crossed, one foot tucked over the other, and actually takes the time to stare back. Tommy's hands had worn through the product - there's a little bit of a curl, in his hair, that Tommy would give a lot of his earthly possessions to see in its natural state. There's still some color in his cheeks, and it's spreading as Tommy checks him out. He's fixed the neck of his shirt, and against the stark white of it, his tattoos are drawing Tommy's eye. He wonders how many other ones he might uncover, one day. "You too," Tommy finally says, when Evan looks like he might vibrate right out of his skin at the attention. Evan beams, and spins the keys in his hand around on one finger.

"You ready?"

Absolutely fucking not, Tommy thinks to himself, but he nods, and lets Evan lead the way back out his front door.

[3x15eddie]

you ever read a fic so good you almost want to print it out on some letter sized paper and just go to town with a highlighter